04 – Fear

The air was damp and heavy, with a smell of wet dirt coming from the moist tiles of the walls. Inside small cracks between the stones, tiny lines of moss grew to fill the gap, but sometimes the gap was wide enough that the hole was partially left open, revealing a dark space behind. It felt like being in a small corridor inside a bigger, empty room.

Small wafts of hot air brushed Martin’s face, coming from the ball of blue fire that illuminated the corridor, casting its eerie light. The shadows danced about, sometimes highlighting and sometimes hiding random pieces of furniture that adorned the walls without rhyme or reason. The first one Martin saw was a chair, rotten and broken down, then a bookcase with decayed books and opaque silver plates corroded by time, and then a mirror. When he tried to look into the mirror, however, Martin saw no reflection of himself. Just a shadow, a dark outline of a person that looked like him but despite the rest of the place being alive with dancing blue light, it was black. He also saw a small light appear behind his reflected self, but when he turned around there was nothing, just the wall reflecting the ultraviolet light in blinding blue. Looking into the mirror again, the dark shadow that was his reflection was gone.

A bit unsettled, Martin moved on, finding that the repetitiveness of the corridor and the strange bright light were eroding his newfound will to fight, and the silence was luring him into a state of nervous calm. He wiped his temples with his hand, and dried the wet fingers on his shirt. After a few minutes he came across another mirror, and slowly leaned in to look into it. The room on the other side of the glass was dark, but not completely devoid of light. There was a weak ambient light that illuminated everything equally, giving the impression of a painting with no depth.

His face came into view. It was lit by the strange, dim light, and he squinted to make out the features. His eyes were strange, and when he got closer to the mirror to see what was wrong with them, he noticed that they were black, empty. He frowned. A small drop of blood fell down his cheek like a tear, and a hand reflexively went to his face as he stared at his mirror double do the same motion. He looked at his fingers. They were red, stained with blood, both in the real world and in the dark mirror.

Then his head snapped back from the mirror, his body jumping away from the glass in a state of fear. The face was smiling, grinning with pearly white teeth, dead eyes staring into him. Something appeared behind it, moving quickly while the man in the mirror stood unmoving. It approached from behind, gripping the head with bony, green claws and snapped.

Martin recoiled in pain, falling back and against the far wall with a thud. Feeling for his neck, he felt the sticky dampness of blood, and watched in horror his hand in the light of the fire. The bar at the top of his vision, the bar upon which his life depended, was only two thirds full. It was slowly depleting, as blood dripped from his neck and stained his clothes.

He felt his heart go in a panic, beating harder and faster while his breath grew rugged. The bar depleted even faster now, and he looked around in a circle, looking for the ghosts, for anything that moved in the shadows but all he saw was darkness where the light of the blueflame didn’t reach.

He quickly went to feel his clothes with his hand, and he found the reassuring presence of the bulge in his pocket where he had put the flask before. It was the reward the system had given him. He took it out with shaking hands, struggling to unscrew the cork all the while staring at his health now below half, and he brought the glass vial to his mouth with even shakier movements, feeling the liquid spill on the ground but without caring about it and drank.

Relief came immediately, the muffled sensation of pain subsiding almost instantly. He felt the wounds close, the bleeding stop, and his heart calmed down while the bar that was his life energy went back to almost full.

He looked at the vial. There was still a small amount of fluid left at the bottom. Carefully, he screwed it closed again with the wooden cork, struggling to push it in far enough that the contents wouldn’t spill. He placed the vial back in his pants, and exhaled in relief.

Okay, I’m alive. The bitter taste of the health potion lingered in his mouth while Martin walked forward, avoiding any kind of reflective surface. He came across another mirror, but he ducked and passed through without stopping, looking back every few seconds.

Far ahead a small dancing light lit the place. As he got closer Martin realized that it was the end of the corridor, and a wooden door stood slightly ajar right next to the wooden table where the candle he saw rested on. The door had a small window with metal bars, from which the room inside could be vaguely seen in the faint light of a few torches.

There were instruments. The metal they were made of was stained red, and blood was dripping from them and into a large pool on the floor. Martin turned around, keeping the door closed with one hand. The corridor he came from was complete black, and the darkness looked like it was creeping in, growing closer with each passing second. It took a moment before it registered in his mind, but it wasn’t just a figment of his mind because he saw that the mirror was gone, and he could see the darkness approach ever faster, swallowing everything.

He rushed into the room just as the light of the candle died. The door slammed shut behind Martin, sealing the creeping darkness beyond its frame. From the window, nothing could be seen.

The light of his skill died, the blue bar dipping below the threshold to keep it up. Martin was suddenly aware of his own breath, of the frantic heartbeat and of the blood rushing in his ears. The flickering torchlight cast by the few lights in the room created dancing shadows and malignant glints on the stained metal of the tools, red with blood and rust. There were saws, surgical instruments. Metal beds with restraining cuffs, and complex wires and straps like the seat of a deranged dentist, made of opaque metal flaking with rust and dripping with blood.

The floor was wet, squelching with soaked stone under Martin’s shoes. He took a step but froze when he felt something hit him, and spun in place to track the sudden loud noise of metal clanging on the floor. He stared, letting his eyes adjust to the low light. Just a metal bowl filled with blood. He let go of a breath he was holding.

Every nook and cranny, every glinting surface and every corner seemed to hide something. The halogen lamp limply hanging from the ceiling reminded him of a mental asylum, its dark bulb hanging on a rusted chain that was about to snap in multiple places. It was broken, with glass pieces scattered on the floor.

That’s when he saw it, reflected on the glass. The blue glow of one of the three ghosts. He was ready this time, and ducked right as something whooshed right where his head was, letting the huge metal blade flaked with blood hit one of the metal beds in a deafening shriek. He got up and fired his skill, the blueflame ball immediately illuminating the room with blinding light, of a deep cerulean that made the ghost almost disappear.

The wall exploded, bricks flying outwards in a sea of flames. A moment later, darkness came back. Martin’s eyes were still blinded by the bright flame, and he looked around but couldn’t see anything except the faint glow of the torches and of some of the metal beds close to them. He stood still, careful not to fall over and get hurt by the sharp metal, while the residual fire died down on the exploded bricks.

He was out of mana, and there was no trace of the ghost. He didn’t know if he hit it or not, or even if the fire could harm it. This would be the right time for them to strike me.

He waited for them to come. Nothing happened for several minutes. Then, he saw a streak again, a fleeting dash of green. He growled in impotent rage. I’m going to kill you. There was mana for another shot, having just barely regenerated enough. Eyes now used to the darkness, he took off in a mad dash into the other room.

Barely a step, and he felt his balance shift. He was falling, tripping on something he didn’t see, then before his head could hit the ground he was lifted up in the air and found himself upside down, staring at the three apparitions.